Surviving The Storm
by luckypixi
Summary: With the storm of the year brewing outside, Sherlock and John are summoned to Scotland Yard. When they become trapped in Lestrade's office with a certain someone, how will they survive? Humour and drama R&R?
1. Chapter 1

**Set after The Great Game...**

**I do not own Sherlock...I'm just playing with it**

**Starts off serious, but humour to come, I promise : )**

**Please let me know what you think!**

**Enjoy!**

**Onwards...**

John sighed as he pulled his favourite brown jumper over his head, his hair flattening to his forehead. It was half past four in the morning and he had just woken up to a very loud yell of his name; he had rushed out of bed just to save Mrs Hudson earache.

There had been a raging storm all night, thundering and lightening as well, keeping most of London up for the past couple of nights. The drains were fit to bursting and the Thames was close to bursting its banks, the rain was so bad. The storm didn't seem to be letting up any time soon.

'Sherlock, it's not as if the evidence is going to get up and walk out of Scotland Yard!' he exclaimed to his flatmate, who was hovering over him impatiently, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

'John, you know what'll happen if Anderson gets his hands on this; it'll be gone into one of his infernal evidence bags, never again to see the light of day.' Sherlock was flapping his hands; this was a big case he had been consulting on and some very interesting evidence had just turned up. Lestrade had not been very giving on the details, but he was eager to have at it.

'Alright, alright' John conceded, tying up his laces and standing up, stretching his arms above his head, wincing as his wounded shoulder twinged slightly.

'Ready?' Sherlock asked as they bounded down the stairs (Sherlock bounding, John more trudging behind him.)

John shut the door behind him carefully, looking to see where Sherlock went. He found the overactive man standing on the edge of the pavement, watching him with bemused eyes.

John joined him and smiled slightly as Sherlock raised his hand.

'Taxi!'

It was uncanny, thought John as they both got into the hastily driven taxi; it was if Sherlock had command of the whole black-cab population of London; there was always one there if he needed it.

'Where to, sir?' asked the driver, a balding man of about fifty wearing an old pullover, hiding his gut.

'Scotland Yard.' Instructed Sherlock tersely, before turning to stare out the window, one hand on his chin, as though he was pondering something important.

The driver gave John a sympathetic look before setting off.

Come to think about, thought John. He had got that look rather a lot since he had met Sherlock. Sighing, he turned and looked out the opposite window as they journeyed along the familiar route.

They sat in near enough silence, apart from when Sherlock would let out a small bark of a laugh every now and then, observing people walking on the pavement; John had long since given up asking him what he had deduced, having had his ears chewed off with long winded answers one too many times.

They arrived at Scotland Yard relatively quickly, owing to the early hours and pouring rain. Sherlock paid the taxi before stepping out and holding the door for John.

John nodded his thanks, stretching again, looking up at the building before them. Sherlock was already way ahead of him, already bounding through the glass doors and into the foyer. John hastily followed him, just getting into the lift in time. He looked up at Sherlock, who was grinning at him, eyes shining. He was excited about this, thought John. Something new.

The lift pinged when they got to DI Lestrade's floor, Sherlock sweeping his long coat, waiting for John to leave the lift first. One thing John could say about that man was that he was chivalrous; the only problem was he wasn't in much of a position to appreciate it all that much; being a man.

The Detective Inspector was waiting for them, a sheath of paper in his hand, smiling all too brightly for the early hour. His salt and pepper hair was all over the place and his face looked tired. His suit was slightly rumpled and one more button than usual was undone. There was no sign of Anderson or Donavon, for which John was grateful. There were bright lights lining the desks and walls; there was almost no natural light coming into the room at all through the windows.

'Have you slept yet?' asked Sherlock, having taken all this data in already.

'Nope' said Lestrade, motioning them to follow him into his office, its glass walls glinting in the desk-lights. 'Nor eaten. I had a rather impromptu phone call this morning...I believe, at least I hope, you two know each other.'

Sherlock stopped in his tracks, John nearly walking into the back of him, having turned to shut the door behind them. He craned his neck to look at the man sat in the chair opposite Lestrade's.

'Good morning, Sherlock.'

'Mycroft?'

John sighed as Mycroft Holmes swivelled around in the chair, looking like a rather pompous James Bond Villain, with an evil umbrella instead of a cat across his lap.

'John' greeted Mycroft, nodding at the doctor, who nodded curtly back.

Lestrade was looking between them all, bemused. 'Well, as it's my name on the door and on the desk, I'll speak first; what's going on?' he asked, moving to sit at his desk, running a tired hand down his face.

'This is neutral ground, Inspector' Mycroft informed him. Sherlock scoffed. Mycroft ignored him.

'My brother has been refusing to take my calls, and I hadn't heard of him in over a week.'

'Oh no, Mycroft. Did you miss me?' asked Sherlock sarcastically, rolling his eyes. He turned to Lestrade, who was watching the warring siblings with a wry grin on his face.

'"Neutral ground" What the hell does that mean?' asked Lestrade, sharing a confused look with John.

'Well, Sherlock wasn't coming forth with me, I could hardly go to him. He has a respect for you, a strong bond of trust-'

'Which you just exploited' Lestrade added in.

'- and I knew he would see you. It was simple really.'

'I thought you said you had some new evidence' he accused Sherlock eyes narrowed at the Detective Inspector.

'Hey, I'm just a lowly bobby' grinned Lestrade gently, leaning back in his chair. 'And your brother was rather persuasive that I phoned you.'

Sherlock glared at his brother, who was picking some lint off his umbrella, apparently oblivious to Sherlock's death glare.

'Come on, John.' Sherlock turned on his heel.

'Sherlock, wait!' Lestrade stood up hastily. 'There was something I wanted you to look at...'

Suddenly, all the lights in the building went out en mass, throwing them into blackness.

'Oh, Inspector, did you forget to pay your electricity bill?' came Mycroft's quick, crafty response. Sherlock aimed a sharp kick to his shin, as childish as it was, but stopped when a gasp was issued from Lestrade's mouth; evidently he had missed.

'Thank you, Sherlock.' Lestrade shifted, moving to his desk to pick up his phone.

John stood in the darkness, breath coming slowly and evenly; he had to get over this claustrophobia; an outcome of combat and his subsequent injury. It had never bothered him before and he was sure as hell not going to let it bother him now.

In the corner of the room the light from Lestrade's phone reflected into the Inspector's face, throwing shadows across his cheekbones, eyes shining in the artificial light. He had a small grin on his face, as though he was enjoying this situation. John supposed it was something different from his normal routine.

'Right thanks, Sally.' Lestrade shut his phone and they all were thrown back into darkness.

'We've had a power cut.' He informed them, opening his phone again to douse them in green light. 'Sally said that the grid is out due to the storm and will be for several hours.' He said grimly, sitting at his desk.

'Why...why don't we just leave?' asked John, motioning to the door in the darkness.

Lestrade shone the light in his face, John squinting slightly. 'It's on a circuit. Welcome to the 21st Century, doctor.' He held something up in his hand. 'Electronic Key-Card. We can't get out of this office.'

'Brilliant' muttered Sherlock, smiling at his brother who looked horrified at the very thought of staying in this room.

'I need to leave' he stated. 'I have a meeting with the Home Secretary at Eleven Thirty.'

'We might be out by then' reasoned Lestrade, now shining his phone in the Eldest Holmes' face. Mycroft glared back at him.

'On-the-other-hand.' Added Sherlock. 'We might not be.'

Mycroft glared at him in the dark

John sat on the sofa which lined the side wall near the window, motioning for Sherlock to follow suit. Sherlock did so, sighing contentedly, happy at his brother's frustration. A small amount of light was leaking blearily though the window, but not enough to see by.

'Well.' Lestrade stated, smiling at his other office-mates.

'What now?'

**What will they do, all four stuck in a room together? Find out in the next chapter!**

**Thanks for reading, more humour to come...**

**Please review**

**Back soon...**

**Luckypixi**

**x**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi!**

**Thanks for the support so far..hope you enjoy this offering!**

**There is humour in here, with some smattering of drama and sibling issues- the normal then : )**

**Please leave a review and let me know what you think!**

**Enjoy!**

**Onwards...**

Sherlock hummed. That was one thing that Lestrade had always found slightly annoying about Sherlock Holmes; no matter what situation they were in, in the middle of a horrific crime scene, just after they had chased a murderer half way around London, Sherlock hummed. Lestrade always thought people hummed when they were happy; a way to get their emotions across without bursting out into song. But here he was, humming an upbeat song from an Opera, if Lestrade remembered correctly from one of the many trips his wife had taken him on to the opera house.

He opened his mouth to say something, the dark pressing in on him, when he was beaten to the post.

'Sherlock, will you stop that infernal noise!'

Mycroft Holmes' voice hit him and he jumped in surprise; not being able to see the government official's mouth move, he hadn't realised he was speaking.

'I'm sorry, Mycroft, annoying you, is it?'

Mycroft grumbled something ineligible and in that moment Lestrade was glad he hadn't said anything; he didn't want Sherlock in a mood with him now.

'Sherlock, will you just stop humming?'

John Watson's soft voice filtered through the ever present darkness. It had been about five minutes since the doors had locked and the grid went down. To John, it felt like five hours.

Deep breaths, he kept telling himself. Control your breathing, your fine, just breathe. His fingers clasped and unclasped in his lap, knuckles tightening each time. He opened his eyes, kept them open; that way he wasn't in complete darkness. There's nothing to worry about. He had had a traumatic experience in Afghanistan, something he didn't need reminding off; he scar twinged at the memory. Gun-fire. Shouting. Pain. Darkness. The darkness around him seemed suffocating; he remembered the first few months of recovery- he couldn't bear having the lights turned off around him. Evidently, that feeling hadn't left him.

'John?'

John turned his head sharply, just making out Sherlock's cheekbones and a few strands of dark, curly hair.

'Are you alright?'

'Yes' he replied too quickly. 'I'm fine.'

'Right' Damn. Sherlock didn't believe him.

John smoothed out his trouser legs with shaking hands. Just breath.

Lestrade leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. He hadn't slept for over twenty four hours. This will just give him enough time to...

'Lestrade, do not even think about falling asleep!'

Lestrade frowned in Sherlock's direction, catching sight of his silhouette. 'And why not? It's my office, my chair. My eyes'

'If I have to stay awake, so do you'

'When did you last sleep?'

'Last night'

'Well, some of us don't have that kind of luxury.'

Sherlock snorted. 'And that, John' he said smartly. 'Is why I will never have children.'

'Huh?' John's confusion was evident in the darkness.

'Chicken pox?' Mycroft's voice floated through the darkness.

Lestrade turned to him, eyes wide. 'What did you say?'

'No, Mycroft; Colic'

'Surely chicken pox; the worry lines around his eyes, the hastily done up tie; the lack of sleep; its something more serious than colic.'

'No, Mycroft. Clearly, the inspector has dark lines around his eyes due to lack of sleep; he's been soothing his children to sleep last night with persistent crying; it's tiredness lines. And he had just grabbed a quick shower before he came here, hence the hastily knotted tie. You can clearly smell his mint shampoo and commercial aftershave.'

'One nil to Sherlock' Lestrade proclaimed proudly. 'The twins have got colic; it's been a few days, they should stop soon'

'Twins?' repeated Mycroft. 'Since when did you have twins?'

'Since my wife gave birth a month ago.'

John smiled. He knew next to nothing about the Detective Inspector; this was a welcome piece of news. 'Congratulations, Lestrade' . He had figured him for a family man; it seemed to suit him. He blindly reached out to clap him on the back and missed, hitting the desk instead. Pain radiated up his arm. But he ignored it; with a gunshot wound, you tend to prioritise things.

'Well, I'm sure it's in a memo...' murmured Mycroft.

In the darkness, Sherlock raised an eyebrow. He knew it; Mycroft had been bugging Lestrade's house. He defiantly hadn't put it past him.

Lestrade sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. He wondered how Suzie was doing with the boys; he should have been a home by now.

John coughed, perhaps in awkwardness and yawned. It had been a long night. And it didn't look like it was getting any better.

'How's the diet, Mycroft?'

John and Lestrade groaned at the exact same time. It had only been a matter of time.

'Fine' came the terse answer.

'Really?, because if I were you, I'd fire your dietician.'

'Well, your not.' A sniff. 'For which we are all grateful for'

'Why would I want to spend all my time starting pointless wars that no one can win and sign lots of forms? Seems a waste of time, to tell the truth.'

'Whereas your little exploits are so much more important.'

'They are actually.' Sherlock shuffled in his chair, getting into his stride. 'At least I'm doing something pro-active.'

'And stopping World War Three isn't?'

There was a pregnant pause at that. You could cut the tension with a knife.

'Sherlock it quite useful.' Lestrade added after a few moments.

Mycroft sighed. 'I'm sure he is.'

John yawned and looked out the window; it was still dark outside. 'Any chance of a glass of water?' he asked.

Lestrade sighed; everyone seemed to do everything louder so they could be heard through the dark. 'You'll be lucky; the cooler is just outside this door'

'Why don't we just break through the glass?' asked Sherlock, as petulant as ever.

'Number one, please treat this office like my home, number two, you are not throwing my furniture around the room and number three, the glass is Perspex.'

'Why did you do that?' asked Sherlock, nonplussed. 'Nuclear provision?'

'No, it just came as standard.' Shrugged Lestrade, just making out Sherlock's face as it fell.

'So we definitely aren't getting out?' asked John weakly.

'Nope.'

'Have you a fresh air supply?' piped up Mycroft, who stood up and was twirling his umbrella in the darkness.

'No.' Sighed Lestrade. He could feel the shock sink in, felt John tense next to him.

'But, provided you know how to open a window, I'm sure you'll be fine.'

Sherlock huffed with laughter. 'That means we're all going to die; Mycroft hasn't brought one of his minders with him. He can't possibly do anything himself.'

'One of those types is he?' grinned Lestrade, leaning back in his chair.

'The worst'

John sighed as Mycroft opened his mouth to angrily retort.

It was going to be a long day

**Ok, the Twins... I, probably like many others, had a little think about what Lestrade was 'busy' with in The Blind Banker, and I figured...why not the birth of his child? And I am an identical twin, so I figured TWINS! They won't feature heavily...obviously not in this fic...but they may be OC's in other fics **

**Hope you enjoyed, please review!**

**Update coming soon...**

**Luckypixi**

**xxxx**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi!**

**Wow, its been so long since I've updated this...sorry!**

**Hope you enjoy...the tension is starting to get to everyone now...**

**Please review!**

**Enjoy!**

**Onwards...**

'This really is insufferable.'

'Oh, Mycroft stop moaning.' Sighed Sherlock, leaning back in his seat, looking quite at ease with his surroundings.

They had been trapped in Lestrade's office for nearly two hours now and light was just about bleeding through the shutters against the window, proving a light source for them to see by.

John was rifling through a book about Practical Police Protocol he had found on the Detective Inspectors desk, the man himself asleep behind in his chair, his chin touching his chest.

'Ah, isn't he sweet?' smiled Sherlock sarcastically, John looking up from his reading.

'What's that?' he asked, looking at the youngest Holmes, who motioned at Lestrade.

'Oh, yes.' John gave him a weird look. 'Very sweet.'

'I simply cannot stay here any longer!' exclaimed Mycroft, standing up whilst brandishing his umbrella. 'I must attend my meeting.'

Sherlock huffed out a laugh, curling back into his seat. 'I'm afraid, Mycroft, that we are stuck here, as we have been for almost two hours now. You should get used to it; I bet it's the first time you've sat down in days, oh wait!' Sherlock stared at his brother. 'It isn't.'

Mycroft glared at Sherlock, sitting back down. There was absolute silence for a few moments before Lestrade broke it.

'Dear lord, he's a snorer.' Complained Mycroft, leaning forwards in his chair towards the policeman, umbrella extended.

Sherlock stood up. 'I would rather, Mycroft.' He said acidly. 'You didn't hit my friends.' He took the umbrella from his brother and tapped Lestrade on the head with it, waking him up with a jolt.

'I'm awake!' cried Lestrade, looking around.

'Evidently.' Smiled Sherlock, handing back the umbrella and sitting back down.

'And why couldn't I have done that?'

Lestrade gave Mycroft a look. 'Done what?' he asked.

Sherlock looked at his brother. 'Because I don't like people hurting my friends.'

'On the contrary...'

'So I did it instead.' Finished Sherlock, looking away.

Mycroft stared at the side of his brothers head before turning away also, muttering under his breath.

'What time is it?' asked Lestrade, reaching for his phone.

John checked. 'Just after nine.'

'Ah.' Lestrade dialled in a number and lifted the phone to his ear. 'Sally? Yeah...how's the grid looking?'

The other three men waited with baited breath.

'Great, thanks.' Lestrade hung up. 'Should be out within the next four hours.'

Mycroft seemed to deflate slightly whilst Sherlock laughed at the expression on his face.

'Is the grid that bad?' asked John, looking around at the small glass office.

'Seems like it..shame though that we're stuck . Ah well.' Lestrade stood up, stretching. Sherlock stood up also, staring out the window.

'How're you feeling, Lestrade?' he asked under his breath.

The inspector turned to look at him. 'Fine' he answered. 'Shouldn't I be?'

'I was just asking.' Sherlock didn't look at him. 'See where observing social niceties gets me?'

'Alright...how're you, Sherlock?' Lestrade asked, smiling.

'Annoyed, now you ask.' Sherlock turned to him. 'How long are we expected to stay in here?'

Lestrade looked icily back. 'Until the grid comes back on.' He told him. 'Do you think I'm lying or something? I want to get out the same as you do!'

'Girls, girls!'

They both turned to see John, who had abandoned his book to limp over to them. 'Let's not fight, okay?'

Sherlock gave Lestrade another look before turning away, sitting back in his chair.

'It's alright, you know.' Lestrade grinned at John, who looked quizzically back. 'After a few years you get used to his mood swings.'

'You make me sound like a hormonal woman' exclaimed Sherlock, looking up.

'Stop acting like one then!'

'I do not-'

'Alright, that's enough!' Barked Mycroft. 'I do not want a migraine added to all my troubles, thank you.'

Sherlock sniffed indignantly before looking back out the window.

'Do you reckon we'll be in here long enough to start wanting to kill each other?' asked Lestrade, smiling.

'Nah...well, maybe Mycroft.' Grinned John, limping back to his seat.

'I heard that' stated the eldest Holmes, twiddling with this umbrella handle, eyes downcast.

John stuck out his tongue, but luckily Mycroft didn't see; Lestrade stifled a chuckle.

'Four hours, huh?'

'Yep' Lestrade eased himself back behind his desk, John sitting opposite him.

The former army medic sighed. 'Got any cards?'

'Ah-' Lestrade foraged around in his drawer. 'Always handed during an impromptu coffee break...voila.' he brandished a pack of playing cards, well used by the look of them.

'I always win a poker.' Sherlock told them.

'You do not.' Lestrade said, dealing them out, Mycroft sighing and watching.

'I do too.'

'Show me then.'

'Fine!'

Sherlock grabbed at the cards and John sighed.

These next four hours were going to be utter hell.

**A little short, but I hope you all enjoyed!**

**Back soon!**

**X**


	4. Chapter 4

**Here's another chapter, hope you enjoy! : )**

**Please leave a comment!**

**Enjoy!**

**Onwards...**

'Go fish.'

'Sherlock!'

'What? I want another card!'

John clapped a hand to his forehead. 'We're playing poker, Sherlock' he sighed through gritted teeth. 'Not Go Fish.'

Sherlock let out a low sigh, leaning backwards in his chair and crossing his long legs. 'It's a stupid game anyway.' He stated, looking at the pile of paper-clips Lestrade and John were betting with.

Lestrade smiled inwardly at Sherlock from across his desk, the dark haired man turning his head and looking stubbornly out the window. It had only been half an hour since he had phoned Sally. Which meant another three hours fifty minutes until they could get out.

'Why don't you have any good reading material, Lestrade?' moaned Sherlock, flicking his hand lazily at the book John was reading earlier.

Lestrade looked, slightly indignant. 'What were you expecting, Sherlock? A library?'

Sherlock shot him a look, his eyebrows furrowed. 'No. What do you do when you're not working here?'

Lestrade gave him a long suffering look. 'I tend to stand up, have walk around. Perhaps actually venture out of the office to go home once in a while.' He smiled and gasped in mock-horror, while Sherlock rolled his eyes.

'That sounds utterly boring.'

'Not if you have something at home worth going back to.'

Sherlock _humfed_ and didn't answer.

John sighed, looking around. The tight tendrils of fear had slowly eased their choke-hold from around his heart, which was still beating erratically. The only thing he could thank anyone for was the fact that this office had glass walls.

'And you can wake up too!'

John stifled a laugh as Sherlock kicked the bottom of Mycroft's upturned shoe, making him snort and wake with a bark.

'Can we get out?' asked the older Holmes blearily.

'We've always been able to get out, Mycroft.' Sherlock told him seriously. 'You've just been having so much fun you haven't wanted to.'

Mycroft pursed his lips and turned his head, craning his neck to look at the clock above the door. 'Dear Lord, we still have hours left in this place.'

'What's wrong with this place?' Lestrade asked, looking around at his tidy office.

'Well, it's small, stifling, too bright, has too much glass...' Mycroft trailed off when he saw the look Lestrade had on his face. A mixture of annoyance and hurt.

'But I can think of worse places to be stuck in.' He added brightly, turning to study the tip of his umbrella.

'Like where?' asked John. He turned to the others. 'Come on, we may as well pass the time creatively. Where's the worst place you'd want to be stuck?'

Sherlock sucked in air through his teeth, while Lestrade looked thoughtful.

'I'll go first.' Mycroft cleared his throat.

'The Prime Ministers Office.'

Three heads turned to him in amazement. Mycroft ignored them. 'It's huge, can fit too many people in it and is furnished entirely with mahogany. It is simply unbearable.'

John and Lestrade shared a look, while Sherlock looked at the ceiling.

'Okay...' Lestrade countered. 'I would hate to be stuck in the Tube. It smells horrible, too many people are running around like arses and there's no one there to help if you need it. And it would be helpful to have a seat every now and then.'

'You live and work in London.' Sherlock turned to the Detective Inspector. 'Why on earth would you need to travel via the Tube?'

'London's a big place.' Shrugged Lestrade. 'Your turn.'

Sherlock sighed again and interlinked his fingers, placing his chin on them. 'I would hate, if I ever had to go back, to be stuck in the bedroom where I grew up.'

'Why?' barked Mycroft. 'Mummy had that decorated perfectly for you.'

'Without asking me.' Sherlock countered. 'I distinctly remember asking for magnolia and she went and got the decorator to paint it sea –blue.'

'It was a nice room.'

'Was not!'

'Yes it was!'

'Ladies!' Lestrade held his hands up in the air, quelling the warring siblings. He turned to the doctor. 'What about you, John?'

John didn't even need to think twice about his answer. 'Afghanistan. I wouldn't even go back if you paid me.'

The room was filled with a silence so deep that John started to feel uncomfortable. Mycroft was looking at him with a look of pity whilst Lestrade had a look of respect across his features. Sherlock smiled at him once before returning his gaze back to the ceiling.

John sighed. It was the same reaction every time. No one ever knew what to say to him after he told them he had been to war. It was just something he had to get used to, he supposed.

'What's that?'

Mycroft stood up as a metallic sound filtered through the glass around them and Lestrade looked around in surprise.

A dark shadows came in through one of the doors, from the stairwell, which wouldn't have been affected by the storm, nor the electrical shortage.

Sherlock craned his neck to get a look at the advancing figure. When he saw who it was he groaned, sitting back down in his seat.

'What do we have here, then?' a voice grinned, tapping their fingers on the glass.

Lestrade saw Sherlock give him a pained look, before turning to the figure.

'Go away, Anderson.'

**Just what Sherlock needs...Anderson goggling at him through some glass XD**

**Hope you enjoyed, please leave a review, I'd love to know what you think!**

**Back soon!**

**X**


	5. Chapter 5

**Another late-ish chapter here, sorry about that! :D**

**Hope you enjoy, please review!**

**Enjoy!**

**Onwards...**

'You're trapped'

Sherlock turned away in disgust. 'Yes, thank you for that observation, Anderson. You can go away now' he flapped his hand at the forensics officer, who grinned and grabbed a chair, dragging it over to the window and sitting on it, back of the chair facing the foursome inside the glass room.

'Oh no, I couldn't do that to you.' Sneered Anderson, grinning at Lestrade who, also in this present state, couldn't do anything to stop him.

'Well just shut up then!'

'Oh, I couldn't do that either.'

'Hell.' Muttered Sherlock under his breath, turning away so his back was to Anderson, facing Lestrade who smiled at him knowingly.

'Just ignore him' shrugged John, picking up his book again and turning to a random page. Mycroft simply sat there in silence, studying the ratty looking man who had just appeared.

'It is impossible to ignore such an egoistically annoying man!'

'Yeah, I know.' Murmured John, not looking up. Sherlock raised his eyebrows but didn't reply.

The light was now filling the room and Lestrade sighed and stretched. 'Well, I should get on with some paperwork, I 'spose.'

Sherlock glared at him and closed his eyes.

Bang.

Sherlock winced, but his eyes remained closed.

Bang.

Sherlock jumped this time and opened his eyes, Lestrade almost laughing at the angry look on his face.

Bang.

'Will you just stop that infernal noise!' Sherlock yelled, making John jump. The consultant detective spun around on his chair and glared daggers at Anderson, who grinned and lifted up his drinking straw, which he had apparently found on the desk. Picking up the scrap of paper he was tearing apart, he put another bit in his mouth, chewed it a bit and spat it out of the straw at the window.

Bang.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'A pea-shooter? Is that the best you can come up with?'

'Whose trapped in a glass box and whose out here?' Anderson reminded him.

'Anderson!' Lestrade warned lowly, giving his forensics officer a stern look. 'Guess whose going to clean all that off this window when we're out?'

'Sorry, sir'

'Don't you have anywhere to go?'

'Nope'

Sherlock huffed and turned around, fixing Lestrade with a hard stare.

'He-'

'Beep!'

'He's very-'

'Beep!'

'Anderson!' thundered Sherlock, turning and glaring at Anderson, who was interrupting him every time he opened his mouth.

'He's very annoying.' Finished Sherlock, turning back to Lestrade.

The inspector stared back. 'What do you want me to do about it? Arrest him?'

'How?' pouted Sherlock. 'We're in here, he's out there.'

'Then what's your problem?'

'Him! He's my problem.'

'Sherlock, will you just leave it?'

Sherlock looked over at John, who was glaring at him, before looking at Anderson, who was looking positively thrilled with annoying Sherlock like this; it was his life's ambition, apparently.

'There's nothing we can do about the stupid idiot, so just ignore him and read a book or something!'

'You're reading the only book in here' Sherlock pointed out. John sighed and threw the book at him.

He was getting steadily more annoyed as the hours went on; the glass walls were oppressing, Sherlock was getting annoyed, which annoying him, Mycroft was tapping away on his phone with seldom used fingers and Lestrade was annoyingly cool and calm about the whole thing. He could feel a tension headache coming on.

'I've missed my appointment with the Home Secretary.' Mycroft stated.

'Shame.' Sherlock turned to his brother. 'I'm sure you could reschedule'

'Its not a matter of rescheduling, Sherlock, its a matter of politeness; you're supposed to give at least forty eight hours notice if you need to cancel.' Mycroft looked distraught.

'Again, shame.' Drawled Sherlock, grinning at John, who rolled his eyes, not hiding a small grin creeping onto his face.

Lestrade cracked his knuckles and looked at the manila file on his desk, Anderson having gone quiet on the other side of the glass.

Sherlock leaned forwards, eyes narrowed and bright. 'Are those case files?'

Lestrade eyed him. 'No' he said slowly. 'Just witness reports.'

'No, I think this one.' Sherlock plucked one out. 'Definitely looks like a case file.'

'It's not' insisted Lestrade.

'Oh, I think it is.'

Lestrade rolled his eyes and sighed huffily.

Sherlock grinned at him, opening the file.

'Lets see what _really _happened this one.'

**Poor Lestrade! :D**

**Hope you're all enjoying this so far, I would love to know what you think!**

**Back soon!**

**X**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi!**

**One or so chapter of this left, so I hope you enjoy!**

**Thanks for reading, reviewing and fave-ing and subscribing to this so far!**

**Enjoy!**

**Onwards...**

'I spied with my little eye...something beginning with 'G''

Sherlock sighed theatrically, but looked around the room nonetheless. Lestrade chuckled, settling back in his seat, closing his eyes.

'Glass.' The inspectors eyes opened and focussed on the bored detective in front of him.

Sighing, he rubbed his eyes. 'Well done, Sherlock.'

'My turn, I believe?'

John yawned and checked his watch. Two hours to go. Mycroft was deep in conversation on his iPhone to who he presumed was Anthea, or whatever he name was. Sherlock and Lestrade had been playing I Spy for about forty five minutes now and it was really getting on his nerves.

'I spy with my little eye, something beginning with... I'

'I...' mused Lestrade, looking around. He supposed this would be good practice for when he kids were older. 'Something beginning with I...'

Sherlock smirked and settled back in his own chair, winking at John. After about three and half minutes, Lestrade gave up.

'Come on, give me.'

'You.'

Lestrade looked puzzled. 'Me, or U? As in the letter?'

'The thing I spied began with an I not a U, Lestrade.' Drawled Sherlock.

'Me?' Lestrade looked down at his suit, confused. He heard Mycroft sigh into the phone. The eldest Holmes put one hand over the speaker of his mobile and say;

'He spied an 'idiot.' That begins with an I'

'Oh...' Lestrade smiled before turning back sharply to Sherlock. 'Hey!'

'You should arrest him, sir' added in Anderson. Sherlock shot him a look.

'For what?' he barked. 'Telling the truth?'

'All right, you two, pack it in!'

Anderson turned away to continue staring at the wall and John snorted when Sherlock stuck out his tongue at him.

Lestrade frowned. 'Very mature, Sherlock.'

'Right, because we base everything on maturity now.' Sherlock turned to Lestrade and frowned.

'My decomposition of a pancreas experiment is ruined now.' He mused, ignoring Lestrade's disgusted face.

'Pancreas? Why...'

'Don't ask' John jumped in. 'Ask a stupid question get a very long winded, scientifically correct answer.'

'Serve me right.' Lestrade looked out the window.

'Sir?'

'Yes, Anderson?'

'Sherlock's trying to escape.'

Lestrade looked around and John jumped up when they realised Sherlock was trying to shimmy open the window.

'Sherlock, get down!' John barked, grabbing hold of the detectives skinny waist and hauling him back.

'John, let me go!' Sherlock struggled. 'I just wanted to look at the...'

'Sherlock Siger Holmes get down now!' Mycroft had got up and loomed over his brother. 'I do not have time to worry about you jumping out of windows!'

'I wasn't going to jump out the window, Mycroft. You're not my father, so don't act like it!'

'Stop acting like a child then!' barked Mycroft, sitting back down. 'It is bad enough we are stuck in here, let alone having to worry about getting out other than walking out the door.'

John's head started to hurt at that long-winded response and he sat back down, pulling Sherlock into the seat next to him.

'Hold on to your brain cells, Sherlock, we'll be out soon.' Lestrade reassured him.

'Why haven't you got a fire-escape or something?'

'Because we're not in a fire and why on earth would the doors lock themselves if there was a fire?' Lestrade asked. 'The corridors shut down on each level to cut off the oxygen, but this glass is flame-proofed.'

'Huh..'

John looked at the detective closely. 'You don't like it in here, do you?'

' I find it intolerable to be stuck in one place for any more length of time than is necessary.'

John nodded, knowingly. 'Two more hours.'

'My pancreas is going to be ruined.'

No one knew quite what to say to that, so they sat in silence.

Then Sherlock began humming again.

'Do you think that you'd be able to get me off if I kill him? John mused to Lestrade as Sherlock closed his eyes and his humming got louder.

'Maybe if you hadn't told me you were going to, but now I know, I can't I'm afraid.' Lestrade smiled at John, who nodded.

'Fair enough.'

It was another ten minutes before Mycroft got fed up.

'Sherlock, please.' He asked his brother, who ignored him.

Mycroft closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. 'I swear that I will force Mummy to invite you to Christmas dinner this year if you don't stop that infernal noise.'

Sherlock stopped abruptly and turned. 'You wouldn't.'

'I would' Mycroft stuck his nose in the air. 'So stop it.'

'You were never above blackmail.'

'It comes in rather useful sometimes.'

'I would imagine.'

'Children!' barked Lestrade, rubbing his temples. 'Why can't you two just act civil?'

Sherlock gave his brother one last glowering look before turning away.

'Can we get out yet?'

**I think Sherlock is going to get even more annoying, don't you? :D**

**Hope you liked that!**

**Please review!**

**Back soon!**

**X**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hi!**

**So sorry this is late, been a bit busy : ) I passed my driving test and got a new job since I last updated, which is pretty good going!**

**Thanks so much for reading so far! Loads of you are reading it and especially alerting for it; I would love for a few more people to review, just so I know where to go next, how much people like/don't like it : ) **

**Oh, and in this chapter we find out Lestrade's name. His real name. His canon name. 'The House of Silk' the new Sherlock Holmes novel by Anthony Horowitz is actually canon, having been commissioned by the Conan Doyle Estate. And it names him. So...drum roll please ; ) **

**Enjoy!**

**Onwards...**

'Zarf...zarf...' Lestrade chewed the end of his pen, thinking hard. Having found an out of date newspaper in his desk, completely by surprise (he had been looking for some post-it notes to write down case details with), he had been trying his hand at the crossword, something which he never usually has time for.

'Zarf...' Lestrade twisted the paper so John could see. He supposed the doctor was as bored as he was; anything to grab his attention away from the warring brothers on the other side of the room.

'A Middle Eastern coffee cup holder, usually made from ornamented metal.' Drawled Sherlock over his shoulder. He narrowed his eyes at his brother. 'If you'd actually bother to lift yourself from your leather chair in your office to see me, you wouldn't keep getting so annoyed that I don't answer your texts.'

'Thank you!' called Lestrade writing it in, winking at John. The doctor grinned at the detective, looking back at the paper.

'Cornish Wonder...' he mused, sneakily looking back at the Holmes's, who were still arguing. 'Sounds British, doesn't it?'

'Mmmm...Cornish Wonder...' Lestrade looked over at Sherlock and Mycroft.

'I am not required to run after you like a lost puppy, Sherlock' sighed Mycroft, barely raising an eyebrow. 'I am your brother and as such we should make an effort to meet.'

'You mean I should make an effort to meet you' Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned away, looking directly at Lestrade.

'Oh for heavens sake! Cornish Wonder ..how many letters?'

Lestrade counted. 'Four', grinning at John as Sherlock glared at them both.

'Well it's obviously Opie.' Sherlock told the policeman, who looked down at his paper with a frown.

'Opie?' he repeated. 'What the hell is an Opie?'

Sherlock sighed and twisted to look at his brother, who rolled his eyes theatrically.

'Well?' John looked expectantly at the siblings.

'John Opie was a historical painter, who painted many important people back in his era.' Sherlock told them.

'Born in 1761, Truo, Cornwall.' Mycroft added.

'How did you know all that?' Lestrade asked, writing in the word. 'Have you done this one before?'

'Of course not, Inspector, but we do know a thing or two about English culture.'

'Well, so do I...'

'Obviously not enough.' Sherlock cut in.

'And why do you know him, then?'

'It's just something I studied at University.'

Lestrade frowned. 'Historical painters? You learnt about historical painters at uni?'

'Why is that so hard to believe?'

Lestrade didn't answer, biting his tongue. Another hour and a half and he'd be out. He didn't want to be carted off in handcuffs after throwing something hard and heavy at one of the Holmes'.

'What time is it?' John asked.

'We've got another hour and a half left.'

'I don't believe that answered John's question, Lestrade.'

Lestrade looked at the consulting detective sitting feet from his desk. 'It's about half eight, Sherlock.'

'Tell John, not me. I didn't want to know.'

Lestrade turned to the doctor on his left. 'It's about half past eight, John'

John hid a smile. 'Thank you, Lestrade.' John's eyebrows creased and he asked, 'What's your name? Your first name?' He'd never once heard anyone address him as anything other than Lestrade.

'Ah, the elusive first name' breathed Sherlock, shooting a look at the glass as Anderson banged against it with his chair, edging closer.

'What, don't you know?' John asked, looking from one to the other.

'Nope' Anderson told him. 'I've always known him as 'Sir' or 'Lestrade' I've never called him anything else.'

'And he destroys all his post so I can't see, he doesn't have it written on his desk or files-'

'And he can hear you, you know.' Lestrade butted in, smiling. 'Why the fuss?'

'Your name is an enigma, Lestrade.' Sherlock told him. 'Even after five years you've never told me.'

'Well, I'm sorry I hurt your feelings' Lestrade soothed sarcastically, patting the detectives arm. 'Why didn't you just ask?'

'Because...'

'I know.'

Four sets of eyes swivelled to look at Mycroft, who was looking smug in the corner.

'You do not.' Lestrade told him, crossing his arms.

'I do indeed. It begins with a G'

'What is it then?'

'Geoffrey?' John blurted.

'Gerry?' Sherlock looked from his brother to the policeman.

'Nope.' Lestrade told them, leaning back in his chair.

'Gabriel?' asked Anderson. Lestrade shook his head.

'Gavin?'

'Nope.'

'Gary?'

'No.'

'Gustav?'

'No!'

'Gene?'

Lestrade sighed. 'Shall I just tell you? It'll be much easier.'

'No, this is fun, this guessing game.' John grinned.

Sherlock shot him a look. 'You are so easily amused, John.'

John threw a pen at him.

'Gareth?'

'No'

'Gerald?'

'Oh, for crying out loud!' Mycroft pushed the palms of his hand into his forehead. 'It's George! His name is George, now will you all just stop speaking; you're giving me a migraine.'

'You always like to spoil our games, don't you brother?'

Mycroft didn't answer, pouting as he looked out the window,

'So... George?'

'Yes, John?'

'Nothing...' John smiled. 'Suits you.'

'Um thanks.'

Lestrade laughed and clapped John's shoulder.

'George?'

'Nope...' Lestrade swivelled around in his chair. 'You can still call me Sir.'

Anderson's shoulders slumped and he turned back in his chair, mouth shut.

'Well..that killed fifteen minutes.'

'Yep' sighed Lestrade, going back to his crossword.

'Only one hour fifteen minutes to go.'

**So there. George Lestrade. Huh...I don't know if it suits him, but its a rare name in fanon :/ At least he has a proper name now, I guess : )**

**Thanks so much for reading, please leave a review!**

**Back soon!**

**X**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi!**

**Sorry for the wait! : ( Work during the week, updates at the weekend :P**

**Thanks for reading so far! Please please review!**

**Enjoy!**

**Onwards...**

Mycroft massaged his temples, looking down at his phone through narrowed eyes. The writing was far too small for him to see and his head was thumping.

'Hoping your phone will morph itself into a key, are you?' drawled Sherlock from across the room. Mycroft sighed, putting his phone into his breast pocket and turning to his younger sibling.

'No, Sherlock , I am not. I am simply trying to procure another meeting with the Prime Minister before Wednesday; PMQ's can become similar to a circus if we do not have our weekly meeting.' Mycroft sighed, giving John a pained look. The Doctor, unsure of what had been just said, looked away, turning back to his book on 'The Correct Policeman's' Etiquette.'

Lestrade ticked yet another box on his paperwork and looked over at John, who had a wry smile on his face.

'What're you laughing about?' he asked, noting the books title.

'Nothing...' John grin. 'Are you really-? Just listen... 'It is generally considered bad practise to enter a suspected criminal's domain and greet them with "Allo allo allo" This could be seen as mockery and could lead to libel action.'

Lestrade grinned as John cracked up, chuckling into his fist as he put the book down. 'What? You'd be surprised at the amount of rules that govern this force.' Lestrade told him. 'We must not mention the victims name in front of our chief suspect if we are not there to arrest them. Apparently this could be seen as 'gauging a reaction' and they get pretty upset about that.'

John giggled again, sighing and picking the book back up. Sherlock turned to his flatmate.

'How long left?' he sighed, dark curly hair sticking up.

'About half an hour.'

Lestrade leaned forwards. 'Sally just texted me...we'll be out on time. Then you can get back to your experiments.'

Sherlock glared at him. 'I detect sarcasm in your voice' he accused, eyes narrowing as Lestrade held up his hands in mock surrender. 'You'd be surprised at the validity of my experiments; twenty years of research at the University of Oxford was thrown out of the window after I conducted the results of one of my experiments.'

Lestrade watched him passively, eyes narrowed. 'Did you know, Sherlock that a policeman cannot be seen to wear anything yellow when they arrest someone?'

Sherlock faltered for just a second, looking quizzically at the Inspector.

'Oh yeah,' smiled Lestrade, ' It comes after an Inspector back in that last century was arrested for fraud, but got off after a barrister successfully argued that he had suffered from some sort of disorder of the mind which caused temporary madness at the sight of the colour yellow.'

There was silence and even Mycroft had turned in his seat, a frown on his face.

'I...did not...know...that.' Sherlock said lowly, eyes creased. Anderson knocked on the window, a stupid, petulant look on his face.

'Of course you didn't, Freak. You're just more interested in facts.' The forensics officer told him, a glint in his eyes.

Sherlock ignored him, turning instead to John. 'Did you know that?'

John shrugged, looking back at Lestrade, a confused look on his face.

'I'd have been a fantastic criminal in a former life, wouldn't I?' Sherlock turned to glare at him, eyes narrowed.

'It was a joke, Sherlock.'

Sherlock watched him closely. 'A joke?'

'Yes' nodded Lestrade. 'If I knew you'd take it so seriously I wouldn't have done it. You are so easy to deceive when you don't know what you're talking about.'

Sherlock huffed and turned away, resuming his humming, much to Mycroft's annoyance.

'Will you stop humming before I do something rather drastic!'

'Like what? Attack me with your moisturised hands? Call your PA to attach an electrocution device to my bed along with the many cameras peppering my flat?'

'Cameras?' John joined the argument. 'What cameras?'

'You haven't noticed them?' Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'They're everywhere! In the living room, the kitchen...even the bedrooms!'

'Really...' John glared at Mycroft before turning to Lestrade. 'Surely there's a law against this kind of thing?'

'There is actually...I'm feeling in an official mood, I think.' Standing up, Lestrade looked at the eldest Holmes, who stood up and faced him, an official 'come on and do it if you dare' look on his face.

'Mycroft Holmes I am arresting you for-'

'Being a pompous prat' interjected Sherlock, smiling wryly at the goings on around him.

'Yes' decided Lestrade. 'I am arresting you for being a pompous prat, you do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you fail to mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court; anything you do say can and will be used against you in evidence.'

'Very funny, Inspector.' Mycroft told him, sticking his nose in the air and turning away.

Lestrade let out a huff of laugher and sat back down, looking at his paperwork. Well, he thought. That killed five minutes.

John coughed, flicking back through the book, smiling every now and then.

'Sir?'

'Yes, Anderson?'

When you get out, can I have a day off, seeing as I'm here and all?'

'No, Anderson. You can't; I didn't make you stay here.'

Anderson nodded, turning away, flicking paper balls at Sherlock, paper hitting the glass with a soft thump.

Sherlock looked at his watch, tick tocking on his wrist.

Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes and he could escape this hell hole.

He couldn't remember when he had sat still for this long.

It had been easily the longest day of his life.

**I hope you enjoyed that!**

**Oh, and I have no idea if police cannot gauge reaction from a criminal like that...just something I thought was funny :D**

**PMQ's- Prime Minister's Questions...something rather fun to watch if you've a free Wednesday afternoon :D**

**Thanks for reading, please leave a comment!**

**xxx**


	9. Chapter 9

**The Final Chapter. As it were :D**

**I want to thank all those who've read this fic, reviewed it, faved it and alerted it..your support has been amazing!**

**I hope you enjoy this final chapter, please leave one final review!**

**Enjoy!**

**Onwards...**

'It's almost like a New Year's Eve party' grinned John, grabbing another handful of paper and slowly feeding it through Lestrade's shredder.

The Inspector laughed and continued looking for some string in his drawer. Ten minutes to go and they'd be free. It was well worth a celebration in his books. He and John deserved something for putting up with both Holmes Brothers. At the same time, no less.

Sherlock had a bored look on his face, staring at Lestrade's book shelf.

'Do cheer up, brother. It is simply unbearable watching this miserable display you insist on performing.'

Sherlock turned to his brother, his face bland. 'Whereas you are simply the epitome of entertainment, yes?'

'It is deplorable how rude you are...I do wonder how John puts up with you.'

'He's not rude to me.' Pointed out John, shredding some more paper. He turned to Lestrade 'Got any coloured card?'

Lestrade thought. 'Ah...bottom drawer.'

'Nevertheless' continued Mycroft, rolling his eyes at the antics of the doctor and the policeman. 'I always wondered why mummy sent you away to school during term-time rather than have you home schooled like I was before I turned eleven. It was your sheer rudeness, I'm sure of it.'

'Oh please, Mycroft, it was because she and father noticed my potential and hoped to cultivate it early on, nothing more nothing less.'

Mycroft sneered, pointing his nose to the ceiling. 'What about the time you were rude to nanny? You deserved that cuff around the ear, I tell you.'

'I simply told her that she couldn't hope to conceal her affair with the politician for much longer...it's not my fault that she took it the wrong way.'

'You deserved everything you got that day.'

'I hardly think so.'

'I do'

'Well, no one really cares what you think, Mycroft. So please be quiet.'

'You need to learn some manners'

'Oh for God's sake!'

Sherlock stood up suddenly, Lestrade standing up on impulse when someone did something in anger, and John stood up in alarm.

'Sherlock!' he barked, looking from one Holmes to the other. 'What the hell are you doing?'

'I cannot stand this anymore! I am fed up with sharing a room with my brother; I haven't had to do this since we were children!'

'By all means' Mycroft gestured politely at the window, Sherlock glaring at him.

'Just another...seven minutes' Lestrade clarified, looking at his watch. 'Can you not be civil for seven minutes?'

'Being chastised by a policeman now, are we?' Mycroft laughed. 'This day is full of new experiences'

'Hmmm.' Sherlock murmured, looking over to Lestrade's desk. 'What on earth are you two doing?'

'What? Can't you tell?' John was unable to keep the mirth out his voice as he fed his last piece of blue paper into the shredder.

'You're shredding paper...and filling a police flack-jacket with the bits.'

'Yep.' Lestrade said cheerfully.

Sherlock took a deep breath and looked to the ceiling with a _'give me strength' _look on his face. 'Why?'

'That's for us to know and for you to find out.' Sneered Anderson from the other side of the glass, tapping the side of his nose.

Sherlock ignored him and turned to John, who shrugged. Sighing through gritted teeth, Sherlock sank back down into the swivel chair and stared out the window.

Then John had an idea. Grinning to Lestrade, motioning to Sherlock, the doctor made his way to the other side of the desk to stand directly behind Sherlock.

'John?'

'Sherlock?'

'What-'

John grinned and reached out, grabbing the back of the chair in both hands and flinging it roughly to the side.

'John!'

Sherlock gripped the armrests of the chair with his fingers, knuckles turning white. His chair spun alarmingly, the G Force being formed surprisingly forceful. With his head now gravitationally stuck to the back of the chair, John couldn't help but laugh as he pushed again, just catching Sherlock's glare as he sped past him..and again...and again.

Mycroft chuckled in the corner, looking quizzically at John as he caught his eye.

'Don't think you're getting away with it!' he laughed, striding forwards and spinning the politician's chair with force.

'Doctor Watson, please!'

Lestrade chuckled as John then rotated and spun both the Holmes again, much to both their chagrin. Watching Sherlock and Mycroft spin around in blurs was something he hadn't seen before...he only hoped, in some depraved part of his mind, that one of them was sick afterwards...as long as it wasn't on his carpet...maybe he needed to find a bin. And sharpish.

'Stop stop stop!' yelled Sherlock, finally having enough and sticking his feet out, catching his ankles painfully on the legs of Lestrade's desk. Even Anderson winced.

Sherlock winced and went quiet. John knelt down and looked at him.

'You ok?...Sherlock?'

'Yes.' Replied Sherlock through gritted teeth.

'Hows your ankle?'

'Fine.' Came the terse reply.

'Sherlock?'

'What?'

'Sorry'

Sherlock looked at John and smiled. 'That's ok...it'll get me back for leaving those chemical experiments in the shower.'

'You...' John smiled. Then froze. 'You what?'

'It doesn't matter now.'

'...Why?'

'Because...' Sherlock caught John's glare. 'Just because.'

Lestrade checked his watch, 'John! Countdown in one minute!'

John laughed and stood up, sneaking a glance upwards; Lestrade had been busy in the past few minutes.

'Everything ready?'

'Yep' Lestrade knocked on the glass and made Anderson jump, glaring at his boss before he realised who he was glaring at. He smiled cheekily at his boss, who mock glared at him.

'Ready for what?' enquired Mycroft, standing up and hovering next to his seated brother.

'Twenty seconds!' John counted down.

'Until what?' Sherlock exclaimed.

'Fifteen seconds!'

Lestrade grasped a piece of string. 'Would you liked to do the honours? He asked Sherlock, passing him the string.

'Ten!' Shouted John, grinning madly. Then they all joined in.

'Nine...eight...seven...six...five...four...three...two...one!'

John nodded frantically at Sherlock, who groaned and pulled on the rope. The string pulled one side of a police jacket away from the ceiling. Pile upon pile of shredded paper fell from the ceiling, cascading onto their heads, covering the floor with curly paper. John laughed, grabbing a pile and throwing it into the air. Even Mycroft cracked a small smile, as well as a patronising shake of the head.

'Happy New Year!' shouted Anderson, banging on the glass with his fists.

As if on cue, there was a hiss and Anderson grabbed the door handle.

'Moment of truth' he whispered. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, he twisted the handle.

The door opened.

'Oh thank Heavens!' Mycroft muttered, smoothing the lapels of his suit. He stood up and took his umbrella in hand.

'Goodbye, gentlemen.'

Not giving even a single backwards glance, he strode out of the room.

Lestrade looked after him and chuckled. He turned to his forensics officer, 'Don't you have some paperwork to do?'

'Yes, sir.' Anderson nodded to John, ignored Sherlock, and turned down the corridor.

Sherlock sighed and stretched his arms above his head, giving John a long suffering look. The doctor laughed and yawned. Lestrade opened his mouth to speak when he phone rang.

'Honey?' he spoke into it, giving John and Sherlock an apologetic look before leaving the room.

John looked at Sherlock. 'Home?'

'Yes...I need to check on my blood cell experiment I left in the oven.'

'Oven?'

Sherlock paused. 'Or did I leave the kidney's in the oven. They're either in the oven or behind the boiler.

John watched him open mouthed as he strode confidently out of the door.

It was going to be a very long day.

**Every day is a long day for poor John :D**

**I hope that was satisfactory ending, thanks so much for reading!**

**I'm going to work on my Mysrade fic for now and then I have another 'group fic' that I'm going to write... another funny one, I hope!**

**Please leave one last review !**

**xxxx**


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